The Wound

Poetry 1 Minute

The Wound

Where are the cuts,

When there is no flesh to see,

Beneath the layers of dirt,

And grime,

And time,

There’s the wound,

Open and undertakened,

Blistered,

And confused,

Of feelings born anew

Amongst the soil of fear and anxiety.

Thoughts of being damaged,

Ravages the inner sanctum.

Published by ruckwarrior

From the desert sands to the wilderness to the writing pad is where you'll find me these days. I'm a veteran turned storyteller writing about life and war. I capture the human experience through fresh eyes, compassion, and an open heart. Vulnerability and candidness are the lifeblood to my storytelling. My writing encompasses war, life after war, the outdoors, the reality and struggles we all face while living as guests on this earth, and joy that can be had once we discover ourselves.

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